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Tuesday, February 17, 2015

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been far too long since I revisited "A Hole in My Heart." I seem to go through periods of avoidance, I fear, because it's not easy to expose the dark recesses of my soul, especially when I'm so glad they are in the past. Fortunately (I hope) I have one friend in particular who won't let me forget my story totally, because she firmly believes someone else could benefit from hearing it. I pray that is so, because for myself and most of my loved ones, the story is either known or does not need to be known, best left in the past. So here I go, dear Annabeal, for you and for perhaps one other who may stumble upon this blog and learn something about herself, perhaps avoiding or else correcting a misstep like any of mine.]

I remember the
whole scenario as if it happened last week.
Frank and I were wandering around the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Of course I had to stop and look at the
puppies in the pet storeB
I always did. My mistake was taking
this one out of its cage for a closer look.
And holding herB
that was what did it. She fit in my two
palms and was all trembly in that spindly-legged, fat-bellied puppy way. I rubbed my face in her downy chocolate hair
growing every-which-way, inhaled her sweet-sour puppy smell, kissed her damp
black nose no bigger than my fingertip.
It was the shiny onyx eyes to which I lost my heart, though. I couldn=t
put her down.

He was generous
then, and so we took her home. I
already had a name, recalled from some novel or French reading I had done. She was ANe
Touche@BADon=t touch@B the perfect complement to our beloved ATouche,@
the French poodle I would never have dreamed of owning. But he had been a wedding present, and I
loved him like a childB
still the best, smartest, sweetest dog God ever created. And my husband thought he was so wonderful
that we should try to breed him, and so the practical reason for the purchase.

We had a glorious
weekend with our new baby. Monday
morning it was hard to leave her and go back to work, but I did, then hurried
home to play with her before taking her to our vet to be checked out and
started on her shots. I can still see
smiling, bespectacled Dr. RobertsonB
we trusted him so, and he was happy to see us adding to our brood. His hands reached out to Ne Touche where she
shivered on the examining table. He
scratched behind her ears, as all good vets do, then with both hands grasped
her small body. As quickly as his smile
had appeared, it vanished, and my heart sank as I asked, AWhat=s
the matter@ He said nothing for a momentB just donned his stethoscope to listen
to her little chest. It seemed an
eternity, yet all too quickly, until removing the stethoscope he looked into my
eyes and spoke softly, AShe
has a hole in her heart.@ tears flooded my eyes, as they threatened to
fill his. He continued, saying that she
could live a long life or die tomorrow, but that she was definitely not a good
candidate for breeding, as my husband had intended. That was not the first time
I found my heart up against Frank’s head with no chance to win. I was
inconsolable, but of course he was “right.” And so we took her back, and I
mourned, but tried my best to hide my tears (which he said were
“unreasonable.”)

It would not
happen the same way today, I know, but then I was only a child of
twenty-something. Then he was my god and king. Then I didn’t know I had the
same affliction as that little brown dog. The difference was, mine would be
healed.

“Come,
let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces but He will heal us; He has
injured us but He will bind up our wounds.” (Hosea 6:1)

READ:
2 Kings 20:5, Isaiah 19:22

PONDER
THIS: Do you have a painful memory that could be a metaphor for a significant
part of your life? What lesson can you learn from it?